Seven Minutes of Evan
by Loyolablu
Summary: ****SLASH**** Evan/Pietro, Evietro, yadda, yadda. A party. Evan. Pietro. A closet. You figure it out.


A/N: I was forced to write this on pain of execution of one of my troll dolls. So I hope the forcee is happy. For the rest of you, please review my first suck-ass effort at slash. Please. Even if you tell me I should never do it again, at least then I'll be spared any more threats by CERTAIN people. 

Disclaimer: I own nothing 

It was all Lance's fault. It was all Lance's fault, and as soon as the whole ordeal was over, he was going to kill him.

That thought was the only thing keeping Pietro moderately sane as he stared at a locked door - a very _solid_ locked door - from the inside of a dimly lit, moderate-sized closet. The smell of leather and mothballs rose around him like swampgas, and he rested his forehead on the smooth wood for a moment before he resumed his apoplectic fit.

"FuckFuckFuck," he wailed, banging on the door. "Lance! I know you can hear me! LetMeOutOfHereDammit! Lance? You'reGonnaDieLanceYou'reGonnaDie! IfYouDon'tLetMeOutOfHereRightNowYouAreSoGonnaDie!"

"Yo, man. Will you shut it? You keep that up, and they'll keep us in here longer. Just keep cool."

Pietro ignored the voice behind him as he kept pounding on the door. "Lance! You stupid fuck, get me out of here! GetMeOutGetMeOutGetMeOut -"

His breath hitched when he felt something whiz by his ear and hit the door with a solid **thunk**. Pietro was quiet a moment, but then put out his hand to touch the object that had flown by. Stuck in the solid door - and still quivering from the impact - was a long, hard, sharp sliver of solid bone. The speedster's eyes narrowed as his fingers carefully felt along the length.

"I said shut up, Maximoff, or next time, I won't miss." Evan's voice was cool, detached and a little bored. "You're giving me a headache."

Pietro grimaced, pulling the bone spike out of the door with a grunt. Through the solid wood, he could hear the buzz of the crowd, bursts of laughter and the occasional shattering of glass. He rested his forehead on the door again, seriously considering trying to smash his head through the forbidding barrier.

"Do me a favor, Daniels -- _don't_ miss me, okay? Throw a couple more of those things and put me out of my misery. Just kill me now . . . anything would be better than this torture."

"Just chill out. You're starting to really make me nervous."

"You're nervous?" Pietro's voice rose. "_You're_ nervous? Oh, Daniels, you haven't _seen _ nervous -"

A sharp knock cut into his words and the giddy voice of an unknown female chirped, "Hey guys - nine more minutes. Don't get _too_ wild in there."

There was a chorus of laughter, and then the speaker moved away. Half in hope and half in desperation, Pietro tried the knob again. No dice - he was -- _they_ were -- still locked in tight.

"I'm in Hell . . ." Pietro moaned, slumping to the floor, drawing his knees to his chest. And he was - in his mind. He was in a closet in a strange house, in the dark, with his mortal enemy, and it would be another . . . eight-and-a-half minutes until he could get out and bash Lance's head in. 

And the whole predicament he was in could be blamed solely on the earthmover. It was Lance's idea to come to the stupid party. Not that he, or anyone else in the Brotherhood, had been invited - Pietro doubted Lance even knew the girl who was giving it. But somehow, Lance had heard about the bash, and had come up with the bright idea of crashing. Fred had been game, because of the promise of a lot of food, Tabitha was up to it, because she'd get to cause trouble, Todd was down, because, well, everyone else was, and Pietro had agreed only because the cable was out and there was nothing better to do at home. So away they'd gone in the Jeep, with Lance carrying along a bottle of Jim Beam that Tabitha had found in Mystique's drawer, and they arrived at a ritzy house on the other side of town. 

They'd had no trouble getting in, Tabitha wasted no time making a fool of herself on the dance floor, Fred wasted no time diving into the buffet table, and Lance wasted no time in pouring the whole bottle of 40-proof liquor in the punch. All that was all right, but two things had made the night hell for Pietro - first off, the X-Men had been invited. Secondly, Lance had drunk more than a few cups of the punch and had been in a . . . playful mood. He was the one who suggested they all play Truth or Dare, and it had all gone fairly alright, with Pietro learning a lot of things about his fellow partiers that he probably would have been better off not knowing. But it was all in good fun. Or something.

That is, of course, until it got to be_ his_ turn. Always up for a challenge, even among the sluggards that surrounded him, he'd chosen Dare, of course, figuring that the worse that would happen would be that Lance, who was running the whole sorry game, would order him to run laps in his boxers. No such luck, however. No sooner had the word come out of his mouth than had Fred grabbed him and Evan by the scruff of their necks, thrown them into the dark, tiny space, and locked the door, but not before a totally blitzed Lance explained that the "dare" entailed the two staying together in the closet for fifteen full minutes. "Don't kill each other," Lance had chuckled just before Fred had tossed them in. And then, the nightmare had begun.

"Hey, Maximoff?"

Pietro's head snapped up. It was way dim in the closet, though he could see a little. But his mahogany-skinned nemesis seemed to melt into the darkness, and hearing Evan's voice without being able to see him was a little spooky. "What?"

"Nothing . . . you were just being really quiet. You all right?"

Pietro frowned. _ What the fuck . . .?_ "What? First you tell me to shut up. Now I shut up, and you're bitching. Can I _please_ have my nervous breakdown in peace?"

"Whatever." There was a shuffling sound, and Evan sighed. "But the more you freak out, the more the guys out there are gonna like it, I'm telling you."

"I don't care!" Pietro jumped up with renewed indignation. "I don't care because Lance is gonna die! He'sGonnaDieDieDieForDoingThisToMe." He kicked at the door. "I know you hear me, Lance! YouAreGonnaDie!"

He bristled when he heard more laughter. Someone right outside the door was giggling, and it sounded like . . . "Tabby?" Pietro pressed his thin body against the door. "Tabs? Is that you? Tabby, please . . . PleasePleasePleaseLetMeOut! Please! I'llDoAnything! Anything! Remember those pictures of Lance I told you about? They're yours." He paused hopefully. "Tabby?"

"Aw, Pietro, sounds like you're having fun in there!" the blonde girl tittered drunkenly. Obviously she'd dipped into the punch as well. "Maybe you two want a few extra minutes?"

Pietro blanched. "No!! NoNoNo! Tabby!"

"Hey, everybody!" Tabby screamed to the world at large. "Pietro and Evan are like, bonding in there. Why don't we give 'em a few more minutes aloooone?" There were general cheers of assent, and Pietro's blood ran cold. "Ya hear that? We're giving ya'll even more time to yourselves!"

Pietro glared at the closed door. So Tabitha would be on his hit list now, as well as Lance. Oh well, at least there'd be a shorter wait for the bathroom in the morning. "Tabby . . ." His voice was a desperate whine.

"Later, you two. Have funnn. Oh and Speedy," her voice dipped low, "I already _have_ those pictures." Footsteps tapped out a retreat from the doorway, and shortly, Pietro could hear Tabitha's distinctive whoop as she rejoined the partiers.

"Pictures?" Evan's voice startled him again, and Pietro banged his knee on the door. "You have pictures of Alvers? That's . . . jacked up, man."

"Well, it'll teach him to sleepwalk through the house naked singing 'Dancing Queen,'" Pietro growled, rubbing his hurt knee. "Lance on Nyquil . . . _not_ a pretty sight." He dropped to the floor again, tentatively stretching his legs out, and kicked something solid.

"Ow, man, damn! That was my leg!"

"My fault," Pietro muttered insincerely. He folded his legs underneath him and leaned his head back, rhythmically banging it against the solid door, half-hoping he could knock himself into unconsciousness. "IWannaDieDieDieDieDie." 

"I'm telling you, it's not gonna do any good. Most of 'em are too far-gone from whatever it was Alvers put in that punch."

Pietro stopped for a moment. "You _saw_ Lance? And you didn't say anything to your fellow goody-goodies?"

Evan snorted. "Whatever. I figured it'd liven it up a little, at least. It was totally worth it to see Jean dancing on the TV." His eyes went wistful a minute, and he smiled a secret, fleeting grin. "But just relax. It's not gonna be too much longer." 

"Yeah, right. You heard Tabby - they're dragging out this shit." Pietro shrieked. "ICan'tStayInHere. ICan'tCan'tCan't -"

A light suddenly switched on, and Pietro blinked rapidly, squinting into the fluorescent harshness. The speed demon looked around at the heaps of clothes and boxes and saw Evan sitting on a large box toward the back of the closet, partially obscured by clothes that were hanging in the space. The X-Man had his chin in his hands, and was staring at him placidly.

"I liked it much better in the dark. At least I could _pretend _ I was alone," Pietro muttered, shading his eyes. "How'd you know where the switch was? You spend a lot of time in the closet?" A dark eyebrow rose.

"Yeah, whatever," Evan said sourly. "You know, I _did_ have an idea to get us out of here, but if you'd rather be lame and act like an asshole, be my guest. I'll just hang out back here and take a nap, or something."

Pietro's eyes widened a little, and something akin to hope surged in his chest. "You know way out of here? You know how we can get out?"

Evan didn't move, didn't look at him, and the speedster bounced up impatiently. 

"DanielsComeOnComeOnComeOnComeOnComeOnComeOnTelllllllMe!"

"Nah . . . you wouldn't be interested . . ." His voice was lazy, drowsy.

Pietro nearly went through the roof. "Daaaaaaaaaaannnnniels, come on! You don't wanna be in here any more than _I_ do, so stop screwing around! Spill it already! Get us out! I can't be in here . . . it's . . . tiny." Sweat began to drip down his face. "I don't like tiny. It makes me . . . nervous."

Evan's face became serious, and he leaned forward. "You're claustrophobic, man?"

Pietro looked up at the roof of the closet, frowning at the bare light bulb above Evan's head. "Not . . . really. I mean, I just don't like being cooped up. I get . . . itchy." He sighed and closed his eyes, finding it hard to breathe all of a sudden. The combination of the small space, all the junk, and Evan just being there was pressing on him like a weight against his chest. "Can't breathe too good," he said weakly, gasping, and he saw Evan's look of concern deepen into one of alarm. "I just . . . need to get out of here . . . so if you know a way, out with it!"

"Okay, okay." Evan leaned closer. "Just listen. This . . . idea I've got might sound a little whacked, but I think it might work, considering the crowd out there."

The speed demon breathed out slowly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, think about it -- Why are we in here?"

Pietro took another breath. "Why? Because LanceIsAFuckingIdiotAndHe'sGonnaDie!"

"Um . . . no, to whatever you said." Evan shook his head. "They put us in here _together_. Out of all the people at the party, they put the two of _us_ in here."

"Do _not_ remind me." Pietro muttered. _Lance is dead. He is deaddeadeadeadead_.

"And they did it why? 'Cause we can't stand each other," Evan said. "And that's what's fun for _them_ - that we'll drive each other crazy. It wouldn't be half as much fun for 'em if, like, you were in here with Todd or I was with Kurt or somebody else I actually like."

Pietro stifled a sigh. Being cooped up in a small space with Todd would be just as scary, but at least his scent would knock him out cold. "Yeah, so . . .?"

"Well, so they think the longer we stay in here, the longer we'll have to snipe at each other. I bet half the guys from the mansion are right outside that door listening to hear us start going at it."

"Hmph." Pietro ran a hand over his snowy locks. Yelling at Evan was so tame and boring in comparison to plotting the downfall of Lance and Tabby. "And, this relates to us getting out of here _how_ exactly?"

"Well, if they're keeping us in here because they think we can't stand each other, what if we make it sound like we're having, like, the best time?" Evan replied. "Like we're actually enjoying being in here? That'd totally fuck up what they're trying to do to us in the first place, and take the fun out of the whole thing."

Pietro mulled that for a moment. "Forget it, Daniels. I think they're all too blasted to notice one way or another _what_ we're doing in here."

"Yeah, but it all depends on what they _think_ we're doing." Evan replied with a grin. "And for what I got in mind, people'll notice, trust me."

The speedster glanced up, frowning. There was something in Evan's voice that was a little off somehow, but he couldn't put his finger on _how_ it was off, exactly. But he shrugged and turned hopeful eyes to the teen. "WhatDoYouHaveInMind?" 

Evan's eyes shone, and his smile became slightly predatory. "Well . . . you ever play seven minutes in heaven?"

"Yeah . . ." Pietro eyed the other mutant narrowly. The make-out game had been a staple of just about every party he'd been to in his pre-high school years. Honestly, being locked in alone with a person for any length of time rather bored the silver-haired boy. After a few minutes of the requisite kissing and groping, Pietro always remembered that they were in a small space, and that it freaked him out, and then the little game lost its flavor. Besides, it wasn't as if he'd come across any heartstopping kissers - none that matched up to his exacting standards anyway. But that wasn't of a consequence - between that question and the look in the dark-skinned mutant's eyes, Pietro was getting a bit nervous. "Why?"

"Well . . . that's why they usually put two people alone in a closet," Evan replied with a slightly less sinister grin. "So . . . why don't we . . .?"

Pietro's eyes went huge, and for a few seconds, he didn't talk. He _couldn't_ talk, because for a good while, because he couldn't breathe. There was no way . . . _no way_ he was hearing what he _thought_ he'd just heard. Evan was _not_ suggesting -  

"What?" Pietro managed to get enough breath to wheeze out the word. "Why don't we . . . what?"

"Why don't we act like we're making out?" Evan said. "We make enough noise, we'll freak out everybody out there, and they'll either let us out, so we stop - or we freak 'em out and they all leave, so maybe I'll be able to spike the lock open. Either way, we get out of here."

Pietro gaped at his enemy. "What? Act like . . . act how? What . . .?" His head was spinning, and he put a hand out to steady himself. Unfortunately, said hand landed on Evan's knee, and he quickly snatched it away.

Evan seemed not to notice. "Listen, I've done this before . . . sorta. Worked like a charm. Think about it - nobody really wants to even _think_ about two guys getting it on, much less _hear_ it," Evan said. "But besides that - it's _you_ and _me_. You have any idea how pissed off Scott would be if he thinks I'm being corrupted by somebody in the Brotherhood - especially _you_? He'll probably knock the fucking door down himself."

"Well, I -" Pietro frowned suddenly. "Hey! Wait a minute . . . me corrupting _you_? What makes you think Lance and Fred won't bury _you_ for having the audacity to touch me?"

Evan gave the speedster a funny look. "Um, I won't _be_ touching you, remember? This is all pretend."

Pietro colored. "Um . . .right. RightIKnowThat." He started to perspire. The lone light bulb was shining down on him most uncomfortably. "Look, no offense, Daniels, but your scheme is pretty gay -" _Okay, maybe a bad choice of word_. Pietro cringed in spite of himself. "I mean, they're making so much noise out there, they probably wouldn't _hear_ anything." 

Pietro ran a hand through his increasingly sweaty hair, wondering why he was bothering to even reason with the boy on why the idea was dumb. It was a dumb idea! Period. He knew it, and he suspected Evan did, too. Ice-blue eyes went steely . . . this was probably just some elaborate stunt to embarrass the pants - so to speak - off him. It wasn't as if Evan had a "rep" to worry about, after all. The blonde barely even _had_ one. Pietro, on the other hand, by virtue of his quick wit and good hair, was among the elites in Bayville . . . even if none of his fellow "elites" knew it yet.

"Look, I _can't_ have people thinking I'm gay - I have a reputation to maintain!"

Evan shot him a puzzled look. "Wait a minute - you mean you _aren't_ gay?"

Pietro glowered at the boy opposite him, feeling much tootired to lie. "Well, _yeah_ I'm gay . . . but I don't want it to be common knowledge. You think I'm gonna out myself so that the football team can pound my ass into the ground? Ha! Forget it."

"Sorry to break it to you, Maximoff, but everybody in school knows you're into guys." Evan rolled his eyes. "Or they _think_ they know it. And if you haven't gotten your ass stomped by now, you probably aren't gonna, so it's not like it's a big deal or anything. Besides, you can always _outrun_ 'em, can'tcha, _Quicksilver_?"

Pietro continued to glare silently at Evan, hiding his surprise. Even if everyone in school _did_ know, which Pietro highly doubted, Evan was taking the subject of his sexuality so casually, that the speedster had to wonder.

A sneaking suspicion crossed his mind at light speed. "Wait a minute - are _you_ gay?" 

"Bi," Evan replied evenly. "More into girls, though."

"Um . . ." Pietro suddenly found he couldn't meet Evan's gaze. The brown-skinned boy's little revelation had totally left him flatfooted. Daniels was about the last person_ he'd_ expect to admit to something like that, though Pietro was aware that he wasn't too surprised. Seemed like a part of him had always known, somehow, that he and Evan had a _lot_ more in common than a love of basketball, but he'd dismissed his thoughts as silly, and maybe - just _maybe_ - a little wishful thinking. Evan was somewhat cute, though Pietro had never much been into blondes.

But the speedster was a little disconcerted, to say the least, at the disclosure. Evan was giving him an expectant look, and Pietro started to squirm a little bit. The closet seemed, at that moment, to grow even smaller. 

"So, um . . . you're . . . uh . . ." Pietro scratched his head, buying time to choose his words. "So'd your X-Geek friends throw you a party to celebrate how progressive you are? Or don't they know?"

Evan shrugged. "I haven't said anything. The subject hasn't exactly come up. But they wouldn't flip out if they knew, if that's what you mean."

"Okay . . ." Pietro shrugged. He didn't doubt the X-Geeks would be disgustingly supportive, probably. He could see the whole team wearing matching jackets with pink triangles and rainbows emblazoned on the back. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Hey, _you're_ the one who brought it up."

"I did not!" 

"Did too, man."

"Didn't!"

"Did!"

"Didn't!"

"Did!"

"Didn't!" Pietro's expression wavered a little when he saw a neat row of bone protrusions appear on Evan's forearms, but he forced himself to look the boy straight in the eye. "_You_ are the one who came up with the stupid idea to act gay!"

"I didn't say act _gay_. I said act like we're getting it on." Evan smirked. "There's a difference."

"Well, if we _act_ like we're getting it on, then we'll be acting _gay_, idiot!"

"But _you_ won't _be_ acting, if you really are, right?" 

"Well, neither will you, 'cause you like guys, too!" Pietro could not believe he was having this conversation - and with _Evan_ of all people. 

"_And_ girls! So _I'll_ be acting more than _you_. Besides, It's not like I've never done anything with a guy, so how would _ I_ know what it's like?"

"Whatever." Pietro pressed a hand to his suddenly aching forehead. "You know what? Forget it - forget I asked. I -" He stopped short, his brain suddenly processing something Evan had said. "Wait a minute - what do you mean by how would you know? Haven't you ever done anything with a guy?"

"Nope." The spike-thrower shook his head.

"Never kissed?"

"No . . ."

"Never, um, groped?" The speed demon's voice was incredulous.

"Uh-uh."

"Never, um . . ." Pietro waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"No!" 

"Then how the hell do you know that you _like _guys . . . that way?" The speedster was flummoxed. He knew that Evan was a little weird, but to claim to be bisexual without ever having been with a guy, was, well, bizarre. 

"Well, I just know." Evan shrugged. "If people who are totally straight can know they're straight before they ever get with someone, and if people who are totally gay can know they're gay before _they_ ever get with someone - I mean, did you know you liked guys before you'd ever been with one?" He smiled at Pietro's reluctant nod. "Well, then. What's the big difference?"

There _was _ a difference, Pietro was sure of it, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. He'd have think on it, definitely - some other time. _After_ he'd escaped the torture of the closet of doom. Which, unfortunately, didn't seem likely to happen anytime soon. At _that_ thought, Pietro began to sweat anew.

"So . . ."

The speedster looked up warily. Evan was wearing the same anticipatory expression, and it was really beginning to freak the speed demon out. "So . . . what? _What_?"

"Do you wanna try to get out of here or what?"

"Uh . . ." Pietro's eyes darted around the narrow area, and he swallowed hard. There had to be dust or pet hair or something in the air -- something that was causing a tingly, heated twinge on his skin . . . yes, that was it. There was something in the air making his skin freak out a little. He wriggled uncomfortably, rubbing his forearm. Yes . . . there was definitely something in the air -- the weird tingly feeling had nothing to do with the pair of dark, serious eyes that were watching him. "I . . ."

"Hey, I'm not gonna force you. If you don't wanna . . ." Evan wrapped his arms loosely around himself, biting down on his lower lip. 

"I . . ." The speedster swallowed, attempting to moisten his suddenly dry throat. This was stupid. This whole situation was stupid. Why didn't he just stay at home and skip this whole lame excuse for a party and have some _real_ fun, say by switching around Fred and Tabby's underwear drawers? Why didn't he run when he saw Freddy coming toward him. Why was he even _considering_ Daniels' stupid idea? And why on earth was he noticing the boy's lips, the cushiony flesh being pressed and pulled between white teeth -

Cushiony? Oh no. Pietro's eyes widened. Oh . . . hell _no_, he did _not_ just think of Evan's lips as _cushiony_. _ No. No. NoNoNoNoNo . . . _

"Daniels . . . you've never even _kissed _ a guy?" The speedster said suddenly, scowling at his archrival. Unfortunately, he was scowling in the direction of the brown boy's mouth, and his face turned all sorts of red, though he averted his eyes quickly. 

"No . . ." Evan squirmed a little, kicking up a little cloud of dust as he moved. "Not yet, anyway. What's the big deal? Why do you care?"

"Not yet?" Pietro felt his blush deepen and found himself unable to adequately answer the second question. "What are you waiting for?" 

The mocha-skinned teenager was quiet for a long moment. Then in a quiet tone, he said,  "I dunno, man. I've just . . . never really thought about it. It'll happen when it's supposed to happen, I guess . . ."

"You're not _afraid_ are you?" Pietro smirked at the black teen and nearly fell to the floor when he saw face. The boy wore a shell-shocked expression that just screamed "Caught!" 

"You _are_ scared." Stunned, he gaped in open-mouthed surprise at his enemy, who was wriggling around in a type of embarrassment that was almost comical, but the desire to laugh never crossed the speedster's mind. "That's what it is, isn't it?"

"No!" 

"Then why haven't ya?"

"Because . . ." Evan frowned fiercely. "Because . . ."

"Take your time, Daniels." Pietro made a show of looking at his watch. "We'll probably be in here long enough for you to think of good excuse."

"I don't _need_ an excuse, man!" Evan stood up, spikes jutting out along his arms and legs. "I just . . . it's gotta be the right time. And the right person. I don't wanna have just _anybody_ slobbering on me -"

"Oooh . . . I wouldn't be too choosy if I were you, Daniels," Pietro said with a sly grin, "or you'll be waiting for that kiss a looong time."

"Fuck you, Pietro," the darker boy groaned, his eyes narrowing into hard slits. 

"Ha! Keep dreaming." he returned smugly. "'Cause _that_ ain't gonna happen. Well . . . maybe if you kill me first - but barring that -"

"Shut up." Evan's voice sounded more weary than angry. "Fuck . . . why'd I ever think I could say anything serious to _you_?"

"Apparently you misunderstand the difference between _serious_ and _stupid_."

Pietro leaned confidently against the door, taking refuge in the halfhearted barbs he lobbed at his enemy - at least it kept his mind off the weird fuzzy, tingly, wonky feeling that suffused his skin anytime he looked in the darker mutant's direction. 

"I said shut up! Dammit, Maximoff, just zip it already, can't you?"

Pietro half-smiled. _Oooh. A challenge? Ah, Daniels should know better_. "Make, me Spykey! Or are you too chicken to do that, too?" 

The speedster knew it was the wrong thing to say the moment the words left his mouth. He knew it was the wrong thing to say even before he saw the sharp flicker deep in Evan's eyes and heard the oddly soft sound of solid bone shooting out of smooth flesh. In a dizzying flash, the shards embedded themselves in varying points in the door, some of them pinning Pietro by his sweater to the solid wood, rendering him, for the moment, motionless. 

"Hey! WhatDoYouThinkYou'reDoing?!" Pietro struggled uselessly against the fragments, knowing from experience that it was an exercise in futility. "StopItGetTheseThingsOffMeNow! Daniels!"

Even faster than the spikes had traveled, Evan had traversed the length of the tiny space and stood nearly nose to nose with the speed demon, breathing in short, rasping gasps. Evan's eyes narrowed as his gaze bore into Pietro's face, and a corner of his mouth curved upward into a snarl. Pietro immediately stopped moving.

"I fucking _hate_ you." 

Evan's voice was low and dripped with the type of malice that usually preceded homicidal sprees. With a rough thrust, and an action that seemed to belie his words, he pressed himself flush against the captive teen. Pietro was quite calm, however, even when he saw the dark eyes flick downward, the X-Man's gaze tracing his lips. He continued to keep calm even when he felt Evan's breath caressing his mouth. And when Evan's face grew closer to his own, those cushiony lips Pietro had reluctantly admired minutes earlier looming ever nearer, finally coming to rest on Pietro's, the cream-haired boy was conscious that_ he_ was the one doing the shaking. 

The meeting of lips was somewhat anticlimactic, however. Just a gentle brush, really - no tongue, no spit, nothing. Just a slight touch of lips and then it was over. Pietro hadn't even gotten the chance to close his eyes. He blinked at his rival as the other boy gave him an appraising stare for a moment, and then began yanking the spikes out of the door. 

Evan moved quickly to remove the last few shards that pinioned the silver-haired boy to the door, and he turned to shove the bone fragments under a pile of clothing. Pietro watched Evan with wide eyes as the other teen went about ignoring his presence. The fast-moving mutant put a hand to his lips, feeling the pleasant buzzing sensation start again under his skin, and spread upward and downward, overtaking his body, like dozens of bees battling below the surface of his flesh. 

He'd _kissed_ Evan Daniels, or, rather had been trapped and kissed _by_ Evan Daniels, which was actually kind of disturbing, but not really. But he could live with it, maybe - even the being trapped part, so long as no one else, especially Lance, found out. But he'd . . . he'd actually _liked_ it. Being kissed by Evan, being pressed up against Evan, had been  . . . an _enjoyable_ -- albeit fleeting - experience. And _that_ aspect of it was scary as hell. Could he, Pietro wondered with no small amount of apprehension, live with _that_?

"So now I've kissed a guy." Evan turned abruptly and glowered at the speed demon, who had not yet moved. "You happy now, Maximoff? That enough for you _now_?" He was breathing heavily, and sweat snaked down the sides of his face.

Pietro blinked mutely at the boy for a moment. "That's a pretty shitty way to thank someone who gave you your guy-guy first kiss," he said at last, rubbing his lower lip. At that, Evan did a double take, but hastily turned away, mumbling something unintelligible. 

Pietro was about to speak again when someone on the outside cranked up the music, and the whole house shook under the heavy bass line and wailing vocals of the latest techno-punk hit.

"They'll never hear us now," he murmured.

Evan looked confused. "What? Hear what?"

"Remember? Your little scheme for breaking us out of here?" Pietro glanced at his watch, only mildly surprised to see that he and the spike-thrower had been in the closet for a total of about 20 minutes or so. "No way we can moan our way out *now.*"

Evan stared at Pietro for a moment, apparently expecting Pietro to say _something_, but not _that_. He then ducked his head a little, seemingly embarrassed. "Yeah, well, forget that, man. You're right . . . probably never would have worked anyway."

"Uh-huh," Pietro stared at the darker teen until Evan looked at him again. "So . . . now what do we do?"

"Um . . . I dunno." Evan scratched the back of his neck. "I could try to spike the lock I guess, but it might be easier to just wait and see if they'll just let us out."

"That could be awhile," Pietro said gravely. He glanced at the knob, turned it. Still locked tight. "Sounds like they're having a good time out there."

"Yeah . . ." 

"So . . . we might have a long wait." 

"Um . . . yeah, probably." Evan stared down at his shoes.

"Maybe a long one . . . a _borin_g one." Pietro rocked on his heels, frowning slightly at the holes Evan's spikes had left in his shirt.

"Uh, yeah, probably." Evan's brow furrowed. "So . . .?"

A small smile curved over Pietro's lips, seemingly of its own volition, and before he realized it, he'd grabbed hold of the blonde boy's sweatshirt and yanked him back to his former position against the door. "So . . . you wanna make out?"

Evan looked at Pietro for several seconds, not attempting to free himself from the speedster's grip. "Seriously? I mean, are you serious?"

Pietro shrugged. "It'll help pass the time. And we're in a closet . . . might as well take advantage . . ." His gaze darted to Evan's mouth a split second before the blonde mutant's lips - and other body parts - were pressed quite firmly against corresponding parts of the speedster's form, both boys quavering with the pounding of the music.

It was all Lance's fault, Pietro thought as a hazy, fuzzy feeling diffused through his being and he willingly opened to the enthusiastic, if slightly hesitant, exploration of his mouth by Evan's tongue. Yeah, the whole thing was Lance's fault. And the rock-tumbler _would_ pay, Pietro vowed silently, he'd pay dearly.

Later.

Fini

Um, please review? 


End file.
